


I Know Why the Bird Takes Flight: Watercolor, Crayola, and Other Stories

by nervoussis



Series: the Hargrove Terrors [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alpha Billy Hargrove, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, Is it really something i wrote without angst?, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Steve Harrington, Practice dating, The Grumpy One is Soft For the Sunshine One, We follow billy and Steve from Kindergarten to the birth of their twin kids, it isn't, no
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26624782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervoussis/pseuds/nervoussis
Summary: Steve got teary-eyed sitting music class or kicking the ball during P.E. and sometimes, when they were playing outside at recess, he would catch a particularly pretty butterfly in his hands and wonder how the world could be full of so much beauty.It all changed when he met Billy.That tiny little boy became the most beautiful thing in the whole universe. Steve no longer felt the same about rainbows and stars as he once did because his world was now saturated in hues of blue and gold. Bright eyes and pink lips.(or) the Companion prequel to "The Grimm Adventures of Poptart and Clementine," as requested by Glitter_Bug and simonestories--a sort of How We Got Here piece.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: the Hargrove Terrors [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926358
Comments: 71
Kudos: 168





	1. Submarine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Glitter_Bug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitter_Bug/gifts), [simonestories](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simonestories/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (or) Nothing you can see that isn't shown
> 
> WARNINGS FOR:  
> Mentions of abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Here's the deal--this was supposed to be a prequel.  
> Steve and Billy were ~supposed~ to be adults. We were set to jump in right at the crest of their college years, but.  
> It turned into a character study. Billy and Steve as childhood friends.  
> Billy's dissent into rage and aggression at the hands of his abuse and...  
> How Steve eventually put him back together.  
> Fuck. Someone please tell me to shut up.  
> Please enjoy chapter one haha

**Part One: the Yellow Crayon**

Steve’s favorite part of kindergarten was sharing with the other kids. Which, okay. Sounds a little far fetched because, famously, kids don’t like to share. They spend the majority of their formative years unlearning the instinct to to clutch precious things to their chest, to hide what matters from the wandering eyes of friends and classmates and as irritating it is at first glance:

The urge to stake a claim and protect what is holy is just human nature. Nothing to be ashamed of, all kids go through the process of unlearning what it means to be selfish.

But Steve learned early on that he wasn’t like the other kids.

He was weird. He wore brightly colored sweaters that hurt the teacher’s eyes. Cleaned his glasses with his sleeves even though the fabric just made the lenses smudgy and he thrived on routine, on predictability.

Steve brought the same lunch to school everyday; hummus on toast and banana slices cut into the shapes of stars, nestled sweetly in his _Josie and the Pussycats_ lunchbox. He sang himself to sleep during nap time.

And painted with his fingers even though Mrs. Prayer often asked _repeatedly_ for him to use the brush. 

And Steve asked questions. 

And made friends.

And wished more than anything in the world to have a best _-best_ friend. Someone to share his crayons with.

\--

Steve was an intelligent child.

Not in a loud way, not in a way that drew attention to itself but things came easy for him. The other kids liked Steve because he was funny and always had the best snacks to share at lunch, but Steve's teachers liked him because he tackled each new lesson with fervor and excitement. Mrs. Prayer told his parents that Steve had a heightened _sensibility,_ that emotions and reading and writing and especially art came as easy as breathing.

Steve colored in the margins of his Math assignments. Used every crayon in the box, scribbling rainbows and puppy dogs for Mrs. Prayer because she always hung them behind her desk, pinned on the wall for the glowing _100%_ to shine in the faces of his peers. 

And Steve was sensitive.

He cried everyday. _Several_ times a day, but not because of pain or confusion or frustration. Everyday was bright red and Steve cried because he couldn't hold it in. The joy overflowed from his spirit, spilling beyond the confines of his tiny body.

Steve got teary-eyed sitting music class or kicking the ball during P.E. and sometimes, when they were playing outside at recess, he would catch a particularly pretty butterfly in his hands and wonder how the world could be full of so much beauty.

It hurt his heart to think about it for too long. Mrs. Prayer said he was a gift to have as a student; he was a constant reminder that life could be sweet and every single day there was another Favorite Thing for Steve to latch onto, another moment of beauty to cry over. 

It all changed when he met Billy.

That tiny little boy became the most beautiful thing in the whole universe. Steve no longer felt the same about rainbows and stars as he once did because his world was now saturated in hues of blue and gold. Bright eyes and pink lips.

Steve looked up that day from his coloring book.

Mrs. Prayer sat Billy in the desk next to his and asked Steve to be _hospitable_ to their new pal from California.

Steve pinky-promised, though he didn't understand why they had to go to the hospital.

Sure, Billy had a boo-boo on his cheek--a bruise, Steve thought they were called. He got them too, sometimes, when he ran too fast in the field. Maybe Billy got his at recess, but.

It didn't matter. 

Steve reached out and brushed his fingers against the supple skin of Billy's cheek, tears welling up and spilling over as he whispered, "Pretty."

Because it was true. Billy was so pretty--the prettiest of all the best things. Like ice cream and nights camped out under the stars and Christmas trees and sugar cookies rolled into one tiny person.

It was overwhelming.

"You're weird," Billy said.

But he didn't pull away, just let Steve brush his fingers all over his face until Mrs. Prayer chided Steve to _keep his hands to himself._

\--

Billy always drew the same things. Dragons and racecars and love-hearts for Steve when he felt like it. Mrs. Prayer started hanging their drawings behind her desk, side by side, and Steve was only jealous for a minute until he saw the smile on Billy's face.

His absolute favorite thing to draw was his sister.

Max was kind of Billy's whole universe, Steve realized. He never cried over pretty things like Steve did, but if he were to shed a tear it would be for that tiny nugget. Billy loved her more than anything, even more than the Power Rangers or the chocolate pudding Steve shared with him at lunch time.

They were playing in the mud the first time Steve asked about Max.

"She's smelly and kind of gross," Billy wrinkled his nose.

"Smelly how?" Steve breathed. He didn't have any brothers or sisters. "Like a garbage can or like toxic sludge?"

Billy lifted his hand to Steve's face. "Smelly like poop."

"Ew, gross!" Steve batted his hand away, squealing as the mud narrowly missed his cheek. "If she's stinky how come you like her so much?"

Billy shrugged his shoulders. 

He got like that sometimes. Quiet, introspective, though Steve didn't really understand it. Sometimes the words tripped over themselves on their way out of his own mouth, too eager to wait inside but Billy wasn't like that at all. 

He was measured, even, as he said; "She's my sissy."

Like that was enough.

"You're weird," Steve concluded. Billy laughed and they went back to playing pirates, the echo of his words filling Steve with curiosity.

He wondered how another person, a kid so tiny and smelly and _l_ _oud_ could be so big in someone's heart, so giant until there was almost no room left for anyone else. It was confusing; another things Steve didn't understand.

Though, as they sat together in the mud that day, poking sticks into the slop and playing pirates under the sun, Steve began to feel that way too.

For when he looked at the sprinkle of freckles across Billy's nose, the blush on his cheeks, he way the sunlight tugged on Billy's hair he thought:

Okay, maybe there is always room for more.

\--

Billy never put color in his pictures.

Mrs. Prayer had a trolley cart full of everything from finger paints to colored pencils and while Steve used every medium during art class, Billy stuck to graphite. Determined to create deep shadows in Max's wispy hair, towering flames escaping from the dragon's mouth with every stroke of his pencil.

And he scribbled aggressively, when his own face was saturated in color. 

When he came to school with a fresh bruise. Tearing the page, drilling holes into Max's cherub cheeks while he worked out whatever haunted him and Steve didn't understand it. Couldn't begin to touch the gaping _emptiness_ that consumed his shining boy, his pretty thing, but he never shied away from the ugly parts.

"Do you want to use my colors, Bumble bee?" Steve held out his box, eyes glued to the table to avoid the purple and black shadow on Billy's face. 

"I don't like colors."

"Your dragon would look cool if the flames were orange." The sound of pencil against paper, he kept on scribbling. Steve set the box on the desk between them. "Maybe red."

When Billy looked up again his eyes were watery, distant. 

"You think they could be yellow?"

"Yeah, sure. You can use all the colors, if you want to." Steve held out the box again. "I have four different yellows in my box, you could pick one. Or use them all."

Billy stared at him. "You really wanna share with me?"

And this felt like _another_ big moment Steve was too stupid to understand. He shrugged his shoulders, nodding gently like the movement might scare Billy off. It did sometimes, when Steve showed too much affection. 

Which was all the time, but.

"Yeah," He grinned. "You're my best-best friend, bee. You can play with all my stuff."

So Billy slipped his fingers inside the cardboard box syrupy slow, like he was afraid the manufacturers at Crayola had replaced the wax sticks with snakes or something, and took his time in selecting the right shade. His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as Billy tested all four on a separate piece of paper--careful, practiced. Wanting to be sure it was the right shade before laying wax to his most recent drawing.

Steve admired that about him, how Billy always moved forward with caution. If it were up to Steve he'd be using all four crayons at once, but.

It wasn't up to him.

Finally, Billy seemed to land on a crayon and put his dragon to the edge of his desk. Steve watched as he colored on the newest picture of Max; she sat waist deep in a sandbox, a little bird sitting on her head as she smiled, grinned, just like Billy.

He worked carefully and Steve was in a trance by the time the drawing was nearly complete.

He was in awe.

Billy pulled back with a grin, considering his newest masterpiece. And then, sheepishly; "Maybe it does look better with color sometimes."

Steve nodded like a bobblehead doll. "Use whatever you want, maybe the bird could be pink!" He loved sharing with Billy.

He would give anything to him. Anything Billy wanted, anything he asked for.

"Birds aren't pink, Stevie." 

He frowned. "No, but they could be."

Billy thought it over and finally put the crayon to the page. "More yellow," He said. "That's my favorite."

And Steve just felt grateful that he got to know him a little better.

\--

So that's how it began.

Billy wouldn't use colors for a long time and then out of nowhere, like a category three storm blowing through the harbor he'd come to school with something new, something scary, on his face.

Billy wouldn't be interested in playing those days. Or talking, or doing much of anything besides scribbling in his notebook and Steve didn't know what else to do besides let him.

When it got really bad Billy would ask to borrow that crayon again. Never a new one, always the same.

_Canary yellow._

That was his favorite. Somewhere along the way Steve grew tired of drawing because Billy was so good. So focused--his art leaped off the page and Steve started to think that maybe there wasn't anything better than watching Billy's hands create tiny worlds made of graphite and wax.

Sometimes Billy would borrow his crayon and they would draw together. It was easier to talk to him on those days, easier when they had something to focus on.

And it was scary how the shades of purple and gray bled on to Billy's face, but.

Steve started to learn more about his sunshine boy.

Like his favorite food was broccoli with macaroni and cheese. And his favorite show was _Sesame Street,_ and he missed California because of the sunshine. And his stepmother grew beautiful sunflowers in the garden-bed that reminded him of Steve.

Billy never said why, just.

_You're like a little sunflower._

So it continued like that. Happy and calm and quiet until one day, it didn't anymore.

The color was blotting his skin like paper Mache and water color. Purple and blue and black bleeding down Billy's arms in the shape of thumb prints and, like the lightbulb had suddenly gone off in her head, Mrs. Prayer started to notice.

She pulled Billy aside to ask questions.

Steve watched from his desk. He was supposed to be reading, but.

He could tell something was wrong from the way Billy's voice shook.

From the way his jaw set, hard and resolute. He didn't answer any of what Mrs. Prayers had asked him.

\--

That day at recess they sat in the field with their notebooks open on their lap. Billy started to draw new things, scary things.

Like staircases into basements and bloody hands and shattered glass. Headlights streaming through open windows. Beautiful and haunting and always saturated in hues of yellow. Billy moved from using one shade to employing all four and Steve felt like it was his fault.

He started asking questions.

"How come your skin is purple?"

The wind blew a curl across Billy's forehead. "Don't wanna talk about it."

"But Mrs. Prayer said--"

"You heard, that huh?" Billy didn't look up from his drawing. "My daddy's just tired. Max doesn't sleep much anymore, and she screams a lot before the sun comes up."

Steve tried for humor. "Is she like a werewolf?"

But Billy didn't think it was very funny. He shook his head. "My daddy loves me, Stevie."

"I know, Bumble--"

"Mrs. Prayer is a fuckin' liar." Billy was scribbling harder now, the blunt edge of the crayon disappearing further with each stroke. "And that's a bad word and I'm sorry but she is. My daddy would never hurt me."

Steve felt like it was all his fault. 

Everything--the bruises and the tremor in Billy's voice and the way the crayon was bending under the weight of his fingers. He didn't know what to say and maybe that made everything worse.

"He loves me a lot, he loves me more than Max, Steve. He told me so." Billy was shaking his head. "He's just tired because Max cries a lot. She's so loud, Stevie, she's. Loud and mean and she stinks and sometimes my daddy hits me but--"

The crayon snapped in two.

Billy stared at it for an endless moment, his eyes welling up with an ocean of tears, lower lip trembling and. Steve had never seen him cry before.

He didn't know what to _do._

Could mommies and daddies hit their kids? Steve had never heard of anything like that before but something in Billy's face, something in his eyes, made Steve believe him. Made him realize that the bruises had never been from running too fast in the field at recess. 

He lifted a hand as it to touch, as if to comfort, and Billy was shocked into motion.

He immediately burst into tears. "Sorry, Stevie, I'm. I broke it. _Fuck,_ I broke it, oh. Oh my--"

Steve pulled Billy to his chest.

Held on to him like the world was crashing and burning as the smaller boy sobbed against him. Steve rocked both their bodies with the weight of it. Billy was crying so hard that he couldn't really breathe anymore and Steve willed himself to stay calm.

He had to be there for his friend.

For his beautiful boy.

Steve pat his fingers through Billy's hair. Babbled about stupid stuff like flowers and stars and Big Bird to try and calm him down, because. 

Steve didn't know what to do. He felt so grownup and so young all at once, all at the same time. Helpless and strong and weak and desperate and--

Steve hadn't known that mommies and daddies could hurt people.

\--

Billy missed school for a couple of days after that and Steve was beside himself with worry.

Mrs. Prayer told him Billy had the flu. That he was sick and his mommy and daddy were taking care of him, making it all better, but. 

Steve knew that was bullshit.

He sat by himself at lunch while Billy was gone. He didn't sing or catch butterflies in the field or draw without him. Didn't feel right since the sun had been snatched out of the sky and no one had told him that bad stuff could happen to kids. That bad stuff could happen to Billy.

When he finally showed up again Steve burst into tears.

Hugged him in front of the entire class.

Kissed his cheeks and yanked him toward their special corner of the room. Their desks, their fortress, where no one could ever hurt them again--Steve wouldn't let that happen. He would protect Billy, they could run away together and--

"You're pinching my hand."

Steve pulled his fingers away. Tried not to whimper at the sudden loss of warmth. He sniffled. "I missed you, I thought--"

"Jesus, why do you cry so much?" This wasn't his Billy. This was someone hard, someone different. He shook his head. "My dad says crying is for bitches in heat."

Which.

Steve felt himself bleeding somewhere on the inside. "I'm. I'm sorry, bumble bee. I'm."

"It's fine." Billy turned away from him. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

So, they didn't.

And they stopped playing, too. 

And singing.

And whispering to each other during quiet time because Billy had nothing else to say anymore. Mrs. Prayer told him to be patient; Billy was just going through changes, things would be back to normal once his family started therapy and Steve didn't know his daddy, had never seen the man or thought anything bad about him but--he hated Neil Hargrove for taking Billy's light and putting it in a box.

For burying it in the ground.

Steve cried in the bathroom that day. Mourned his friend in peace, in quiet until the tears dried on their own. When he returned to his desk Billy was hard at work on a new drawing.

Steve sat and pulled out his math homework. 

Billy poked him. "How come you don't wanna color?"

"I didn't think," He felt tears coming again. Steve bit his tongue until they went away. "I didn't think you wanted to be my friend anymore."

Billy rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid."

And Steve wasn't stupid. 

Billy always said he was smart and pretty and perfect, so.

He opened his notebook and scribbled away for what felt like hours. They talked about _Sesame Street_ and their plans for the weekend like nothing had happened, like everything was back to normal.

When Steve finally looked up from his drawing Billy handed him something small and delicate.

A yellow crayon taped back together in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s not my fault that this is another chapter work!!! My brain made me do it, I love writing these idiots! Thank you so much for reading, thank you for your lovely comments and kudos and everything. This fandom is like it’s own little community and I’m so glad to be a part of it. Cheese aside: let’s move on to middle school 😬


	2. Motion Sickness (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (or) Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be.
> 
> The first part of this chapter is encased in the letters they send while Steve is at camp. Please let me know how it reads!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One Summer Can Change Everything
> 
> WARNINGS FOR:  
> Summer Camp  
> Awareness of one's body/ Body dysmorphia  
> Thirteen year old's being Tragic and Terrible  
> Homophobic Language

**Part One: Blue**

The annual two month excursion to Camp Hollybrook used to be Steve's favorite part of the year.

He looked forward to it more than anything else; more than Christmas time, more than his birthday, more than the last day of school and late Saturday mornings in front of the TV combined, the change in the seasons meant endless possibility. Camp Hollybrook provided a backdrop for all of Steve's wildest summer fantasies.

The possibility of first love, of a first fight--drama and wonder and rebirth. His high hopes for all of the mystery that came with the season lived within those log cabins, a gentle swan song nestled in the valleys of Lake Michigan.

Steve would spend the weeks leading up to the seven hour car ride across the boarder plagued by sleepless nights. Too excited to break beyond each wild scenario that ran through in his head, hopeful that every summer was an opportunity to chart unfamiliar waters.

This was the year he'd finally start a fire with only the things he could find in nature.

This was the summer he'd gain some muscle from the endless thrall of activity.

This time round he'd meet a cute girl at the canteen, maybe a camp counselor if he was lucky, and they'd neck behind the bath houses as the sun set over the water. His girl'd be beautiful and smart and outspoken. Would like Steve for more than just his _pretty eyes_ and maybe they'd become friends. Lovers. She'd spend all summer wrapped in the crook of his arm until the end-of-camp bonfire where they'd promise to keep in touch one school started up again.

And then, when they inevitably broke it off, maybe he'd get to be the dumper and not the dumpee. That always looked like fun in the movies.

But, despite Steve's best efforts, every year went the same:

He would spend two months sharing a bunkbed with his camp friend Cletus. They'd fish together, and talk about their home lives, and roast marshmallows at their own pit while the rest of the boys got to know the few girls at Camp Hollybrook under the starry sky.

While they lived his wildest fantasies, but.

Steve didn't mind.

Cletus was great. And funny, and sweet, and he always had the newest edition of _the X-men_ because his friends back home sent each release in the post.

Steve and Cletus read together every night, cramped shoulder to shoulder in the sticky heat of Steve's galaxy quilt. And though Cletus didn't smell like Billy--like fresh soil and lemons and home--he was nice. And though Cletus didn't read to Steve when the words started to mash together, didn't let Steve sleep with his head against his chest like Billy did--things were okay.

Things had been okay, _better_ than okay, every year at camp until the summer of 1980.

Since Billy walked into his life Camp Hollybrook had started sucking serious eggs, losing a little more of its light and appeal with each passing season and this year?

Steve missed Billy so much it hurt to breathe.

\--

\--

_Sunny,_

_I spend all day in the woods. It sucks being home, drawing by myself. The only person I can have sleepovers with is Max and she still wets the bed and it really sucks that when I think of something funny I have to wait a year and a fuckin' day before you can hear about it. I always wanna tell you right away._

_Sucks riding to your house only to have your mom (who's looking fit this summer, btw) remind me that it isn't a nightmare: Stevie really is away at camp. Summer used to be my favorite when I had someone to hang out with but you just had to go and ruin that, huh? :P_

_How was Camp Fuckabrook this week?_

_Did you find any cool plants? You should press them between the pages of the book I sent and wrap them up in your next letter. I think I'd like to see them before the end of time, fuck you very much. I found a Venus fly trap in the forest last week, maybe we can feed it worms!_

_Max says hi. I'm teaching her to swim but it's hard because she's like a rock, all bony elbows and knees, armed with an eternal bad attitude. Wonder where she got that from, haha. Would be so much better if I had some help._

_It rained everyday last week. Hate it here. Always hated Hawkins...it's better when I get to hang out with you, dufus._

_Come home already._

\--

\--

_Bumble,_

_You sound like a sailor. Why do you curse so much, it's bad for your teeth. My mom (ew, by the way. That's disgusting) says that too many curse words rot your gums, so. Hope you're ready for our first day back together to be spent at the dentist office, you sicko._

_And btw: it's Camp Hollybrook and it rocks._

_Sorry I'm having fun without you! I know it seemed impossible but LOOK AT ME NOW! So many plants and girls and, like, survival skills right at my fingertips. Jealous?_

_Cletus and I find really cool flowers in the woods sometimes. I've been saving all the best ones so I can make you a flower crown when I get home. Would you wear it if I picked the ones that aren't super girly? I keep having dreams where you have flowers in your hair._

_Tell Max I say hi, I miss her kicking my shins when we play Barbie's. She definitely got her attitude from YOU, are you kidding? You're the grumpiest bumble bee of them all. While the rest of the hive plays in the sun all day you sleep curled up in a tulip, or something. And when the other bees come knocking you sting them._

_I miss you a lot._

_I like the rain. I have a raincoat and rainboots at home, if you want to wear them. Mom told me she sees you riding by on your bike everyday. You know you could just sleep in my room, right? As my best-best friend it's practically yours anyway. The rainboots have little sailboats on them, though. I know how much you hate baby stuff._

_Tell mom I said you live with us now, she won't mind._

_I miss you, Bumble bee._

_Write soon. Hearing from you is the best part of any week. From now until the end of eternity and past that._

_Miss you._

_\--_

_\--_

_Hey asshole,_

_Who the fuck is Cletus? Sounds like a redneck, is he teaching you how to mount smelly deer heads on the wall? So fun, I bet he's got a crush on you. No boy that goes with another boy into the woods to look for flowers is straight. Tell him I'll ruin his little hick life if he hurts your feelings._

_You can threaten me with trips to the dentist all you want--I like the way the words roll off the tongue._

_Fuck, shit, piss, asshole. Got a nice ring to them, don't you think :P_

_Besides, wouldn't be that bad if I got to see you squirm when the dentist cuts my gums open, squealer._

_Max got a new Malibu Barbie camper for her birthday this year. She wants to know if you'll play Ken like always when you get back, says I suck at playing Barbie's because I don't do the voices right but that doesn't make any sense. I'm a boy, aren't I? And "I don't do the prom justice," because I never let Ken kiss Barbie but Max is my sister._

_It's kinda gross, if you think about it._

_Come home so I don't have to do this anymore. We're thirteen, Barbie's are a little below us._

_Unless you still want to play, I won't tell anyone._

_Anyway, I got your raincoat. Your mom said I could sleep over when you get back from camp, could maybe stay the whole week depending on what Sergeant Dickwad says. He's been making me run track and lift weights all summer, says with you gone I don't have any more distractions. I wanted to kill him for saying that, I told him, "Dad Steve is my best friend, he isn't a distraction." I had to sleep in the shed for two nights for mouthing off but it was worth it._

_We can watch Airplane! when you get home too. I heard it's really funny. Tommy H. said the flight attendant's tits bounce during one scene, we gotta check it out._

_Come home already. Seriously, this fucking sucks._

_\--_

_\--_

_Billy,_

_Neil Hargrove is an asshole. A certified dick wad, even my dad thinks so and he's like, a certified bumfuck._

_See, now you've got me cursing too, you're a bad influence!_

_Why do you let him treat you like that? Seriously, if he tries to make you sleep in the shed again just go stay at mine. Mom called last week and said it was okay. More than okay, Bumble you're always welcome at our house and that's coming from upper management. What's mine is yours, yeah? I'll call tomorrow and let her know to change the sheets for you._

_Tell Max I'll still play Barbie's. I kinda miss it, building little worlds with her while we hang out. The guys at camp don't like to play with me. They say I smell weird, like dried flowers, but I just think I smell like sweat and stale bug spray. A few of them have asked me if they can knot me...I cried in the bathroom._

_I know I'm not supposed to cry but. It kind of hurt my feelings. Cletus read to me from outside the stall for a while until I calmed down._

_He isn't you, Bills. But I'm glad he's here. I asked him about my scent and Cletus said he can't really smell it on my body but that it clings to my sheets sometimes in the mornings after I've had a nightmare. Do you think I smell like flowers? Maybe I should get a different body wash? I don't think boys are supposed to smell like tulips._

_I miss you a lot. We can watch anything you want when I get home, we can maybe even work out together. All this rowing had better be good for something, my arms feel like rubber bands._

_Write soon, okay? I miss you._

_\--_

_\--_

_Sunflower,_

_Those guys are assholes, you smell fucking fantastic. Well, from what I can remember, anyway. It's been so long since I've seen you, fifty-four days tomorrow, what do you look like again? Scrawny and dorky with big bambi eyes? Sounds right :P_

_I'm writing this from the comfort of your bed. Your dad made up a bullshit story about needing some work done on the yard or something. Said you were home early and General Dickwad (yup, he got promoted) said it was okay if I stayed over here for a few days._

_Cletus sleeps in your bed? Damn, Harrington. Didn't know camp was treating you so well ;)_

_Seriously, though. Don't let those guys get to you._

_Even if you do present as Omega (which you won't 'cause from what I remember: no tits), it won't change anything. You'll still be the coolest person on the planet and I'll still be your best-best friend. I can't believe they asked to knot you, I would kick their fucking teeth in if I could. Fuck their asses with their own dicks or something, that's gotta be harassment. Normally I wouldn't condone snitching but since I'm not there; you need someone looking out for you._

_Something tells me Cletus can't get it up, much less win in a fight against a bunch of beta dick holes._

_I wish I was there, Stevie. I wish I could be the one to read to you._

_Has it gotten easier? Your mom said she had to send you reading glasses last month. I bet you look like a nerd._

_Fourteen more sleeps and then we get to hang out in real life._

_I miss you too,_

_Bills_

_\--_

_\--_

_My dearest Idiot Sandwich,_

_Male Omega's don't have tits you ass, that's a myth. I would know because I looked it up in the library last week after Trey Nicholson pulled my pants down in the bath house to see if I had a pussy._

_I don't have one, for the record._

_He got sent home early but it serves him right; mom says My Body, My Rules. I'm trying to stick up for myself, like you said, but it seems a little bit late for that. Camp is over in five days and then I'll be home and you'll do all the heavy lifting for me. Speaking of which, are you going out for sports?_

_I swam a mile yesterday! I might go out for the team, but I wanted to see what you were doing first._

_I don't want to present as Omega. Doesn't that make me a bitch? Tyler Nicholson said it makes me weak._

_I'll have heats and be a sex-crazed maniac, that's what everyone says. My uncle Mark is an Omega and he has a hard life, he doesn't have a mate because all the alpha's think he's a whore for being able to carry the pups. If I present as Omega I might just die._

_Four more sleeps and then I'll be home. I_ _miss you._ _You're my best-best person._

_Love always,_

_Sunny_

_\--_

_\--_

_Steve,_

_If we're still unmated at thirty-five, I'll be your mate. I won't let you be alone._

_Yours,_

_Bills_

**Part Two: Ampersand**

Three months can change everything.

The seasons, for one. When Steve first arrived at Camp the weather still clung to the gentle crispness of early summer; the leafy trees left budding in the wake of each sunny day, the morning mist ripe for the sprouting of flowers and a light jacket was still needed in the trek across the grounds to breakfast each morning.

That was his favorite.

Early summer was always Steve's favorite, when each new day was ripe with possibility.

By the end of the season the fields were brown and barren, left sprawling in a relentless heat. Steve and Cletus spent their afternoons in front of the fan, staving off exhaustion as the sun beat like a tribal drum against the slate roofs of the cabins. By July any activity that didn't involve water ceased to exist. Even birds stopped taking flight and sat in their evaporating muddy puddles to keep cool, almost like they were aware of what was coming. 

Steve's body, like the seasons, had started to change. Nothing should be able to grow in the face of droughts and hundred degree days and steamy walks from building to building, but.

Despite it all Steve had grown like some sort of doomsday weed.

He stared at himself in the mirror. Poked at the supple curve of his triceps, the dip in his collarbone, the swell of his chest. Everything had changed as the days grew longer and hotter and by the end of camp Steve looked like a different person. Lips--pink and plump. Shoulders--broad and wide and heavy with growing muscle, the welcome result of endless activity, but Steve was still rosy cheeked and cherub faced even with all the changes, and.

Pretty. Devastatingly, disgustingly pretty.

Like a girl.

Everything Billy had said to him over the years, every whispered confession under a sky full of stars had come true: he was a goddamn Barbie doll come to life. 

Steve pulled his _Camp Hollybrook_ t-shirt over his head and wondered what his father would say.

\--

Cletus was always the first to leave.

His mother picked him up in their green minivan every year and each time around Steve felt like there were more brothers and sisters to meet under the heavy warmth of the sun. His mother pulled to a thundering stop on the gravel road and Cletus' brothers _\--four_ this time, holy shit--clamored from the backseat, racing up the hill to tackle their brother to the ground. An instant fit of giggles and tears and endless _I missed you's,_ Steve watched with a teary smiled as Cletus ruffled his brothers hair and wished, like every year, that he had someone to hug him so tight.

Billy would, when he got home, but.

It wasn't the same.

Cletus scooped his youngest brother into his arms and turned, eyes watery behind his wire-frame glasses. "Adrienne, this is my friend Steve." He said thickly, like Steve was important.

He gave a gentle smile as the toddler careened forward and made grabby hands. Steve didn't know what else to do besides hold him.

So he did.

The little boy stuck his hand in Steve's hair. "Pretty," he whispered, and.

Yeah. Steve felt his cheeks glow bright red.

"Thanks." 

Cletus took Adrienne in his arms and launched into a story about their time at camp. About the canoe rides and s'mores and the praying mantis they saw bite the head off a spider last week. Steve shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot as they celebrated their reunion, feeling out of place in the conversation though Cletus kept grinning at him over his brother's mop top.

They had said their tearful goodbyes as they packed the night before, whispering promises of _I'll see you next year_ and _You have my number, use it._

But Steve felt a change in the air: Camp Hollybrook was already disappearing from the view in his mirror. 

Cletus was laughing as Steve recanted their funniest moments of Hollybrook 1980, when:

"Hey, Harrington!"

Steve whipped his head around, chuckle simmering out on his lips, to find Billy Hargrove climbing the hill like some kind of corny final scene in a romance movie.

Windswept, ginning and oblivious to Steve's parents piling out of the Beemer behind him, and--

Steve felt the wind get knocked out of him at the sight of those blue eyes.

Shining, _glimmering_ with fresh tears. He sped up as Steve stared at him surprise, like he couldn't believe it either. Like he couldn't wait any longer.

"Stevie," He called. "C'mere, asshole!"

And that shocked him into motion. Steve let out pained noise, like a rubber chicken getting run over by a car because Billy was _here_ , at camp. Steve's parents had brought him for pickup this year and Steve had forgotten how beautiful he was, and.

He took off running.

Tripping clumsily down the hill, tears catching on his stupid face as Billy's hyena cackle reached like phantom limbs across the space between them. He opened his arms to catch Steve mid flight and the second their bodies crashed together Steve was weeping.

Couldn't help it.

"Missed you, Bumble bee. _God,_ missed you--"

"Stevie, holy shit--" His arms were everywhere. Roving under Steve's shirt, smoothing around the curve in his arms, squeezing lightly at his hips. It felt incredible.

Like Steve had never left.

Like he was home, again.

Steve pulled back to run his hands through Billy's curls. To touch his face, his neck, his lips. Billy's eyes drank him in like he'd been lost in desert for years, as if he had been asleep underwater for too long and was finally coming back up for air.

Like he really, truly _missed_ seeing Steve's face everyday and--

"Your hair!" Steve cried out. He yanked his fingers through it again, releasing a wet sound as Billy leaned like a cat into his touch. "It's longer, it looks--"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Billy gently detangled Steve's hands, chuckling. "My dad threatened to tie me down and take a pair of scissors to me but I wanted your opinion, I guess."

He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal.

Like he didn't look like some sort of _Greek God._ Steve liked to pretend that Neil Hargrove didn't exist and and as Steve's parents greeted Cletus' mom from somewhere behind them he finally got a look at Billy Hargrove.

Even through the haze of tears Billy had changed so much.

In the three short months they were apart the last of Billy's baby fat had given way to lean, cut muscle. His arms were strong and tight and heavy around Steve's waist, comforting. Billy smiled slowly, sweetly, like he wanted the moment to last.

Like he could read the shock in Steve's eyes.

The longer, curlier tendrils of Billy's golden hair framed his face perfectly. He looked soft and masculine and perfect under the summer sun and _holy shit._

Steve wanted to taste his skin. 

Every inch of him, wanted to claim Billy and mark him and never let him go because--

"You look," Billy was frowning now, thoughtful. Steve's heart fell through the ground. He immediately shrunk in on himself, hugging his arms to his chest even as Billy tried to backpedal. He wouldn't survive it if Billy teased him today, not when he felt so...disgusting.

"No, Stevie, you look."

Billy tried to pull him in again. He swallowed thickly.

"Steve, you're so--"

"This must be the famous Billy Hargrove."

Billy pulled back like Steve had pushed him. Cletus stood a few feet away, grinning politely but serving as a harsh reminder that people could _see_ them. That it was frowned upon in polite society for two boys to have their hands all over each other like Billy and Steve did, but.

That was just them.

Sharing each other's space was as easy, as _necessary,_ as breathing. Cletus reached out his hand. "Steve's told me so much about you--"

Billy didn't move from his place in the dirt.

They stared at each other. Bristling, almost, shoulders pushed back and chests elevated as they each took inventory of the other. Billy stepped closer into Steve's space, slinging a loose arm around his shoulders.

"Sunny's little camp friend, the redneck." Billy smirked--eyes sharp enough to cut glass. "Pleasure to meet ya."

He was feigning relaxation.

Steve knew Billy's body almost as intimately as his own. Knew when his friend didn't like someone, and.

Steve didn't know what was happening. Didn't _like_ what was happening as Cletus' jaw worked under the summer sun. 

Cletus took his hand back, letting it fall limply at his side. "Not really a redneck, so--"

"Stevie mentioned you mount deer heads with your old man," Billy's teeth flashed, bright and hot like fire reflected on glass. "Sounds pretty redneck to me. Gross, but. Get you a lot of girls down in Hotlanta?"

Steve recoiled at the light brush of Cletus' eyes across his face.

Billy's arm tightened like a vice around his neck. Possessive, desperate.

"Not really, uh." Cletus admitted after a breath. "Not really my type."

_Oh._

And then, as if by some miracle, it was time to go. Cletus pulled Steve in for one final hug, muttering promises to write and call if that's what he wanted. His hands were warm around Steve's waist, solid and gentle as they gripped at his sides and Steve tried to ignore the weird sound Billy made in his chest when Cletus pulled back to ruffle Steve's hair.

"See you around, bambi." He said with a wink.

And then he was gone.

When Steve turned around again Billy's ears were red. "You didn't tell me he was a model too."

Steve blinked. "Huh?"

"Oh come on." Billy sneered. "That guy is in love with you."

"Ew, that's." But Steve felt his cheeks glow bright red. "That's so _gross,_ you're so gross--"

_"See you around Bambi."_

"Shut up, Bills." Steve bumped his shoulder, grinning as Billy cackled.

"Cletus and Stevus, fuckin' in a tree--"

"I'm gonna have to find a new best friend." Steve muttered glumly, but Billy didn't seem to notice anything besides the nervous flush on Steve's skin, as if that was an indicator that Steve had the hots for his weird camp friend.

"Can't really blame the guy. S'not my fault you're so goddamn _pretty."_ Billy yanked on a piece of Steve's hair, teasing though his eyes grew soft around the edges. "Seriously. I leave you alone for three months..."

"I know, I'm a goddamn Malibu Barbie."

Billy shrugged his shoulders. "You said it princess, not me."

And with that he snatched Steve's bags off the ground like it was a chore his parents had asked him to complete. Grumpy, heated, flexing his new muscles in a way that had to be _unnecessary._ Billy's hips swayed all the way to the Beemer and Steve felt.

 _Different_ as his parents descended on him in a storm of cheek kisses and worry. All _Steven, you've really filled out_ and _Is the boy_ _wearing lip-gloss, Margaret?_

His mother smoothed the hair at the back of his neck and Steve very pointedly _did not_ notice Billy's shirt riding up as he closed the lid to the trunk. The way his muscles shifted as he put on his seatbelt. How very solid and warm he felt as Steve dozed against him, face buried in his neck, the whole way home.

How Billy smelled the same as always. Like friendship and home and yellow crayons. Childhood memories; lemons and fresh soil and something else, something new. Something like peaches and cream--delicious and supple and.

Addictive. Steve tried to ignore the uneasy swirling in his stomach as his parents prattled on and on about school starting again in the fall. By the time they pulled onto Loch Nora it was night time, the stars shining brightly ahead in the brisk night air.

Billy carried Steve's bags up the stairs to his bedroom, excusing himself to change into his pajamas and when they finally crawled between the crisp and familiar sheets of Steve's bed, Billy was a solid, hot presence behind him.

Steve closed his eyes and tried to ignore the gentle _puff-puff-puff_ of Billy's breath against his skin.

And the solid link of his arm around Steve's waist.

And the pressure of Billy's hips against his body and that delicious, warm presence of something Steve knew they both had but had never really thought about it before. Not like this. He didn't sleep a wink that night.

So summer was over and this time Steve got his wish.

Everything had changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to split this into two parts.  
> Yes: There is that much trauma that happens in middle school and I don't want to rush it.  
> Plus we still need to introduce Tommy and Nancy and all that.  
> I hope you enjoyed this one! I was battling writers block the whole time lmao  
> okie lysm bye <3


	3. Motion Sickness (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (or) I know what it sounds like, it sounds like you.
> 
> "You are my actual rainbow gel pen in a sea of blue and black writing utensils, like. I'm not doing seventh grade without you." -Anna Kone. Pen15.
> 
> Steve presents in this chapter. Do male omegas typically have periods? Who the fuck knows but this omega does because: itz middle skool, nerdz. More trauma for the pie, I suppose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR:  
> Thirteen year old's being Tragic and Terrible  
> Body dysmorphia  
> Death in the family  
> Talk of suicide (Specifically Billy's mom)

The first time he hid in the cupboard under the stairs was the day his Nonna passed away.

Steve hadn't known people could die before that. The afternoon caught him off guard, by surprise even, because he had been holding out hope that she would get better. His Nonna was strong and sturdy. She sang loudly in the kitchen and peeled oranges with her hands and Steve had thought that she was God.

Omnipotent. Constant. Unbreakable, and.

He had known that bad things happened to people sometimes. That they got sick when they played in the snow for too long or hurt when they fell while riding their bikes. And he knew that sometimes it hurt so badly that they had to sleep for a while, but death seemed impossible for someone like her.

His parents didn't cry when she passed.

The arrangements had been made for weeks before then; _we knew it was coming,_ they said, _you're thirteen years old. Don't act surprised_. And in a way, he wasn't. In the weeping, shuddering center of himself Steve had known that his Nonna was going somewhere new but had thought of it more as a long trip.

An excursion to Scotland or something, where she'd still call and visit during Christmas time, where she'd still be his best friend--there to talk about stuff like girls and puberty, readily available whenever Steve needed her but he hadn't known.

Not really.

When she got sick Steve was afraid to go and see her in the hospital. Was made uneasy by the sallow, papery change in appearance to her strong hands. His Nonna looked like a shadow of the woman he knew, at the end. Pale, shriveled in her baby blue nightgown, eyes sunken and ringed with skin the color of chocolate chips.

Billy told him he would regret it if he didn't spend as much time with her as he could.

 _She's dying, sunshine._ Billy patted his fingers through Steve's hair as they slept under the stars. Summer had tuned to fall, school started soon. _You need to say goodbye._

And it had been scary at first. Terrifying; Steve had nightmares and cried every afternoon in the parking lot after she kissed him goodbye but still he went. Still, he sat by her side; reading to her from his book of fairytales and prattling about his hopes for this new chapter in their lives as she coughed up blood.

As she withered away.

Until, in the still of the night, she finally disappeared.

Steve hadn't known that people could die.

 _Pass away,_ his mother gently reminded him, _We knew it was coming. She isn't going to suffer anymore._

Steve couldn't wrap his head around the concept of death. 

Even as she lay motionless on the soiled hospital sheets, he didn't understand it. 

\--

"Steven, won't you come out of there, honey bunch?" His mother rapped on the door again, her knuckles sounding like pins falling into a haystack as he burrowed deeper into the depths of his pillow fort. "I know how hard this must be for you--"

"No you don't!"

"Honey, we loved her too." His mother took a deep breath. "She was my mother, Stevie, and. Grandparents pass away, bumpkin, it's just a fact of life."

Steve buried his head into a pillow, hugging Mr. Watermelon to his chest. He knew he was a teenager now; a big boy who shouldn't cry or like stuffed animals, he fucking _knew it,_ alright, but this was an _emergency._ "Go away."

"Honey bunch, Nonna was _sick--"_

 _"Go away,"_ He let out a sound. A choked off, embarrassing noise he knew Billy would tease him about if he were here. Steve rubbed the sleeve of his jumper across his face. "I'm not coming out, okay, not for anything."

His mother sighed. "Not even for Billy?"

Which.

Steve would do _anything_ Billy asked him to. His parents knew it, everyone knew it, they were just trying to trick him into being an emotionless robot. Into being a boy boy who didn't cry over spilled milk. Outside the door someone was shuffling around, getting closer. Jiggling the handle.

"Sunny, would you let me in?”

"Billy?" Steve asked weakly. He shuffled up to the door, letting out another choked off sound. "Billy, I hurt all over."

Silence. Billy jiggled the handle again. "Just. Let me in, Steve, we can talk about--"

"Leave me alone."

”Stevie—“

He tugged the hem of his jumper up around his head. “Stevie isn’t here. He’s in sweater town.”

More silence. Finally; “Do you wanna come out of sweater town?” Billy asked. And Steve felt like an asshole for making him worry like that but then someone was banging on the door. Harder, much more urgent than his mother before them.  
  


He felt himself bristle at the sound of his fathers voice.

"Steven Andrew Harrington, open the door _now."_ Steve _hated_ it. Hated him. "Come out of there and mourn like normal. Like the rest of us."

Steve kicked the door weakly, wincing as the sting reverberated through his sock. "I'm not coming out until Nonna comes to see me!" 

"Jesus _Christ,_ Anne." His father snarled. "I don't have _time_ for this bullshit, I have a deadline."

His mother sighed. "He just needs time--"

"Sure. Coddle him like you always do." Steve heard his father stomp down the hallway. Felt the distant vibrations of his office door slamming shut, the force of it echoing through Steve's bones.

Mr. Watermelon clung to his chest as Steve shushed him, sang him a lullaby. He knew he wasn't supposed to sing; boy's didn't sing. Or cuddle stuffed animals or sick their thumbs even after a night mare and _especially_ didn't cry.

Not even when their Nonna's passed away but he couldn't help it.

The world was alight with flame all around them.

Billy would tease Steve if he could see him now. If he knew that the stuffed duck was his only comfort in the entire world but Steve couldn't bring himself to care because.

His Nonna was gone. 

More silence followed. Thick and unrelenting like fog on a cloudy day. After a while he thought they had left, even Billy, but he saw movement under the door.  
  


Shadows thrown across the ground as someone sat on the other side.

A note, scrawled in Billy's neat handwriting slid between the door jam and the carpet, landing at the edge of Steve's pillow fort. He read it with tears running down his cheeks.

_You sound like shit._

Steve threw the letter at the door. "Go away, bee, I don't--"

"Fuck that." Billy said flatly. "You think I'm gonna pass up the opportunity to listen to you cry like a sissy boy?"

Steve whimpered. "I'm _not a sissy boy,_ you asshole."

Billy chuckled. Softly, like he knew a secret. "Oh yeah? Let me in then, pussy."

A challenge.

And, yeah, Steve may have been a wimp. And fruit, a fairy, a Nancy boy—every useless thing his father and the kids at camp had called him but Steve _knew_ he wasn't a pussy.

Or a coward.

Steve never backed down from a challenge and he knew he could be tough like Billy, if that’s what it took. So Steve spared one final glance at the door and then unlocked it, collapsing onto the pillows as Billy shuffled in and closed it behind them.

He smelled like peach cobbler and lemon dish soap.

"Wow. Look like shit too." Billy grinned. His blue eyes instantly darkened when Steve started weeping, _vibrating_ with the force of his sobs. Billy looked like he was going to cry, too.

"Sunflower, come on--"

"Leave me alone!" Steve growled. He pushed at Billy's chest, shoving Mr. Watermelon's face into Billy's collarbone until he fell on his ass with a muted _thud._ "If you're just gonna be mean to me why did you--"

"Jesus, you really _are_ upset." Billy said, almost impressed.

And Steve was confused.

Lost and broken and so very, very angry. 

"Yeah, I'm upset, you absolute dick." Steve blubbered, tears hot and bright on his face. "Nonna’s dead and she's never coming back and you're an asshole for being mean to me today. I hate you." He threw Mr. Watermelon at Billy’s head, feeling a little better when the bill of the stuffed duck poked him in the eye.

Billy threw it right back. "Ow, fuckin' asshole."

"Get out." Steve concluded.

And with that he buried his head into the pillows. Let the severity of the situation weigh him down until it felt like he was sinking through the Earth. 

_gonegonegonegonedeadawaypassedaway._

Billy didn't say anything for a long time. Didn't move or crack a joke or _anything_ while Steve fell to pieces in the closet under the stairs. 

After a while the tears stopped falling.

Maybe Steve was exhausted, maybe his body had deemed it necessary to give him a break, but before he knew it he was drifting on the edge of sleep. Steve's thumb found his mouth, another stupid thing boys weren't supposed to do, and just as he was dozing off--

Mr. Watermelon poked him on the nose.

"Dear Stevie...won't you come out to play?"

Billy was singing. 

"Dear Stevie, greet the brand new day-hey-hey--" He was actually _singing,_ mimicking an old timey jazz man as he moved Mr. Watermelon up and down Steve's side. "The sun is up, the sky is blue..."

Steve swatted his hand away, furious. "Billy, stop--"

Those blue eyes sparkled. "It's not Billy, it's Mr. Watermelon."

And it was kinda cool, but. Steve tried to squirm away. To hide his own face in the pillows but Billy was on top of him in a flash. Pinning him in place as Mr. Watermelon continued, growing louder and more obnoxious by the second.

Steve was smiling.

Against his will, he was smiling for the first time in days.

"The sun is up, the sky is blue, it's beautiful..." Billy pet his hand down Steve's cheek, lifting the stuffed duck to use as a microphone. "And so are you, dear Stevie. Won't you come out to play?"

"Alright, I get it--"

But Mr. Watermelon wasn't finished. "The wind is low, the birds will sing that you are part of everything, dear Stevie." Billy poked his eye, cackling as Steve recoiled with a frown. "Won't you help me eat this pie?"

Steve sat up, knocking Billy to the floor. He was a heap of giggles on the beige carpet, snuggling Mr. Watermelon to his chest in a way that was completely embarrassing for the both of them, but.

"Those aren't the words, stupid." Steve was grinning, anyway.

Billy cuddled up next to him. "No, but Susan made one. Blueberry, it's in the kitchen."

"Really?" Steve asked.

There had been a parade of moms in and out of his house the last few days. Concerned neighbors lugging everything from pie to casserole in their neat ceramic dishes like carbs could raise the dead, somehow, and Steve knew his mother wasn't going to cook again for the next ten years. It was Hawkins' tradition to pay your respects after a death, but.

Susan. That was a big deal.

Billy nodded. "She made a really good blackberry cobbler when my mom killed herself."

And he said it like Steve already knew. Like it was just any old conversation between friends.

Steve wondered if he would ever stop learning new things about his sunshine boy. Wondered if Billy’s sadness was as blue as his eyes, as deep as the ocean.

Billy curled up on his side, face mashed into the stuffed duck like Steve sometimes slept when he had a nightmare. The kicker?

Steve didn't know. Had never thought about what had happened to Billy's mom; Neil and Susan and Max were his family. Dysfunctional and weird, but.

Family, all the same.

Steve curled up on the pillows next to him, running his fingers along the curve of Billy's cheek. 

"I'm sorry, bumble." He said. 

"Don't be. She died a long time ago, I don't even--"

"How come you never told me?" Steve wondered gently. Sometimes Billy got upset when he asked too many questions, like that day on the playground only different.

Worse.

Steve braced himself to be shoved away but it didn't happen. Billy only shuffled closer, settling his face into Steve's neck and inhaling deeply like Steve was medicine for his soul. "Don't like thinking about it, I guess."

"Then we can talk about something else," Steve said. "Like your terrible singing voice."

A feeble attempt to make the boy smile.

Billy shoved him. "Shut up, Mr. Watermelon and I are gonna be stars--"

"So terrible--" Steve lamented.

"Rich as miners, you dick." Billy took a deep breath. Then, softly; "Life sucks."

“Yeah. It really does."

Billy twisted around until Steve could see his face. “Are we still gonna be. Y'know. Friends, once school starts again?"

Which.

Steve blinked at him. "What kinda shitty question is that?"

"I dunno, it's just." Billy shrugged. "Everything's changing so fast."

Steve just sighed. "I'm not changing. I'm staying the same forever, okay? For you."  
  


His chin was quivering and Steve wanted to smooth it out with his lips. Pull Billy close and never let him go.

"You can't promise that, Steve, don't be stupid--"

"I know, but," Steve shuffled closer, yanking Billy to his chest and squeezing him tight. "I'm gonna be your best-best friend forever. And for always, like. Even when we're old and gray and ugly like a couple of raisins."

"Shut up." Billy deadpanned. He sighed heavily into the skin of Steve's throat. "You mean it?"

And.

"Yeah, yes." Steve vowed fiercely. He pulled Billy even closer, inhaling his scent until his head started spinning. "Forever and for always, bumble bee."

Billy chuckled wetly. "You're an idiot." He said.

But Steve could feel Billy's smile pressing into his skin even as the world changed and burned around them.

Even as the weight of adulthood and all its unanswered questions stood waiting like a thief in the night.

\--

It began with a bout of nausea. Flowering on the inside of the linens when he woke up on the first day of school, like petals the color of fresh roses.

Steve had heard about it before. Dreamt about it alongside monsters under the bed for years, terrified that it would someday happen to him. That he'd wake up with a pussy or something like the guys at camp said, but that morning began the same as any other. Steve awoke, late, blankets tangled around him while he struggled to heed his mother's warning; _be ready in five minutes or you're walking to school, Steven._

He flung the comforter off and stumbled around his room. Pulled things on at random; a sweater here, a sock there, oblivious to the sticky slide of _something_ worming its way down his leg until it was too late.

Steve thought it was a spider at first.

He ripped his flannel PJs off with a screech, pawing at his leg frantically only to stop cold when his fingers came back wet with blood. 

It got a little blurry after that.

He remembered screaming for his mother and then locking the door when he realized that his father was still home. The terror that had gripped him was steely, ice cold fingers squeezing around the pulse in his neck until all he could do was sink to the floor and let the panic overtake him.

The world was ending.

Steve had presented as Omega and, worse so, there was blood in the carpet. Pressed into the fibers like a flower caught between the pages of a book.

His mom begged him to open the door.

Steve couldn't get his lungs to work, his fingers to close around the handle to let her in even though all he wanted was to crawl under her skin; if he opened the door she would be able to smell it. Steve heard his father shout a _goodbye_ from the foyer. The second his car pulled out from the driveway Steve collapsed into his mothers arms. 

_Oh, honey. I'm so sorry._

She cried with him, that day. Wept into his hair because the alignment brought with it only toil. Only strife.

"I don't want to be a girl, mama." He couldn't breathe. She kissed the top of his head.

"You're still you, baby." Steve's mother brushed her fingers through his hair and told him that, someday, a gentle and sweet alpha would come and protect him. Take care of him when she no longer could but Steve didn't know what that _meant._

"Are you going away? Like Nonna?" He hiccupped. "I don't want you to go away, mama please--

"I won't, lemon, not for a long, long time."

Steve wasn't convinced. 

"Come on, I want to show you something." His mother said sweetly. She took his hand and lead him down the hall to her bathroom, the one with the jacuzzi tub Steve wasn't allowed to use. "We're going to get you all cleaned up. Mama will run you a bath and then we'll order pizza, maybe eat some ice cream, how's that sound?"

Steve hugged his arms to his chest. "The boys at camp said--"

"The boys at camp are assholes." His mom brushed the tears from his face. 

The bathtub filled with pink bubbles as his mother helped him undress.

She lowered him into the water with a gentle smile. "This will help with the cramps."

"Cramps?" He asked.

She chuckled. "It's like your tummy hurts. Like maybe you ate too much chocolate cake. Do you feel it?"

Steve poked at his belly button.

Maybe he felt it. The dull ache of everything changing once again, the uneasy swirl in his stomach. Steve nodded.

"Hurts." He said.

His mother blinked teary eyes at him. Steve watched as she shrunk in on herself, seeming to disappear with the weight of it all. "We can talk about it, if you want. I'll answer any questions you have, lemon, I'm here for you. Do you trust me?"

He missed school that day. 

\--

"You smell different." 

Steve looked up from his algebra homework to find Billy staring at him. Staring him _down,_ might be more accurate. Like Steve had personally insulted him by using his mother's salted caramel body wash that morning.

He blinked. "I changed my soap--"

"Not your skin," Billy leaned forward, eyes searching. "Your soul."

Steve felt like he was going to throw up. "You can smell my soul?" It was supposed to be funny. Counteract the intensity of Billy's stare as he reached a hand across the space between them.

As he brushed his fingers over Steve's lips.

But Billy wasn't laughing.

"You used to smell like applejacks. Now you smell..." He shook his head.

Steve flinched away. "I know. Tommy said I smell like coconuts and rosemary." 

They had made a new friend. A sort of third wheel to their dynamic duo, and it had shaken things up a little. Tommy brought out the playfulness in Steve and the maturity in Billy, it was a change of pace to have him around and they didn't always know how to handle it. 

Billy shook his head again. "Tommy doesn't know shit."

"What do I smell like, then?" Steve challenged. He threw his pencil on the floor and folded his arms, ready to bristle if he had to. Ready to deflect. "Like shit? Like sewage or paper waste, Billy? What?"

Billy grinned. "Smell good." 

That's all he said, just; _smell good_ as if Steve would let it go at that.

He started to move back, to pull his hand away, but Steve caught him by the wrist.

"What do I smell like."

Billy's eyes were like sparkling gems. Like the surface of a pool, reflecting every comfort and fear Steve had ever felt. Finally; he sighed.

"You smell different. Sweeter, I guess, but like always." Billy brushed his fingers over Steve's lips again. Quickly, like there was a secret time limit. "Still smell like home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Billy was singing is: Dear Prudence, by the Beatles.
> 
> Alright, so here's the thing:  
> This is going to be as long as it wants to be and I can't stop it.


	4. Clear Water Fountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys strike a deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for:  
> Steve being an absolute imbecile  
> Billy unknowingly breaking his own heart

Somewhere along the way Steve started to see important moments of his life as colors in a painting. 

When he met Billy the world was cloaked in hues of harvest gold and seafoam blue. A blanket of summertime that Steve could wrap himself up in whenever the cold stiffened his bones. Meeting Tommy H. in seventh grade meant and blue lived in perfect harmony with cinnamon coated freckles to form a masterpiece that Steve was content to live in forever, but.

The entire world was remade into shades of milky brown and light green the first time he saw her. Everything changed only this time it didn't feel like drowning so much as swimming.

She ate by herself at lunch, most days. Sometimes with a freckled red-headed girl and sometimes not, but always with a book in her hands. Mussy brown curls buried in a different _Babysitter's Club_ every afternoon, plush red lips sliding along the gentle slopes of dialogue--the red headed girl was the only person in the universe who could make those serious lips crack and morph around a secret smile.

Her happiness was the color of freshly cut grass glistening in the early morning dew. The exact shade of her eyes.

Steve had never seen them up close but he ached to feel the gentle brush of her gaze. He knew her friend's name was Barbara because they had fourth period algebra together. He knew they had been friends since kindergarten, just like him and Billy, and.

The girl was his secret fascination. 

Steve tried to figure out a course of action. He knew the girl was on the debate team. He knew she liked to read, and Steve knew she was a work of art. He ached to get his hands on her, to feel the curves and slopes of her form under the swell of his finger tips, to taste the light cherry-red of her mouth, and the thought rested like a leaf against his skin.

Omega's don't proposition.

Omega's stay in their place, and though Steve held the secret close to his chest like a stone teddy bear, he was perpetually weighed down by the reality that someone would find him and not the other way around.

Billy thought it was a load of bullshit. Thought Steve could have any girl he wanted, but that's just because he didn't know. Hadn't figured it out, though every sign pointed to Steve's alignment as an Omega. Billy was generally clueless, your typical Alpha smartass. Thought with his dick above all else and hadn't noticed anything other than the subtle changes in Steve's scent. 

Just thought he had started dousing himself in vanilla extract before school every morning, which. Was a terrifyingly accurate description of the smell Steve couldn't seem to get out of his clothes.

In many ways he was grateful for Billy's cluelessness. He wasn't ready for everything to change just yet, for Billy to start aiming arrows at the cracks in his armor. Steve could feel the impending shift in the air; his monthlies had turned every wall into rubble around him.

It was only a matter of time.

\--

"Just go talk to her." Billy said one afternoon in their hideout. "If you never learn her name you ain't got a chance." He parted the deck of cards like a bargain Red Sea; thick, sturdy fingers tracing a line in the sand.

"I don't need to know her name. I know other things about her." 

"What, like she reads horrible dime novels to add meaning to her life?" Billy stared at his cards in concentration. "Got any threes?"

Steve grinned. "Go fish."

The muscle in Billy's jaw ticked, a tell-tale sign that they wouldn't make it through the game. "How are you so good at this, holy shit." He drew from the deck and tried his hardest to maintain a stoic poker face. "Why don't you just talk to that lil red headed girl, whatsername. Barbara? See what she knows about little miss perfect."

Steve took an ace from Billy's stack--he was definitely going to win this one. "And risk coming across as the most obviously desperate sack on the planet?"

"'S not desperate, just. Strategic." Billy's tongue poked out in concentration. "What about two's, you got any twos?"

"Go fish."

"You're definitely cheating, you asshole." 

"Am not." Steve took a sip of Dr. Pepper. "You just suck at splitting the deck."

Billy threw his cards onto the pile with a huff. "I don't wanna play anymore."

And Steve had long since learned that it was best not to push. He focused instead on flipping the cards together and storing them in their little box.

Billy downed the rest of Steve's Dr. Pepper with a sigh. "Why don't you do something she likes?" He reasoned. 

Which, Steve hadn't thought about that. "Like what?" 

Billy laid back on the conifer boards of the treehouse, an arm tucked under his head as Steve settled in against him. He grunted, huffing aggressively when Steve wriggled around like a gummy worm trying to make a plant in chocolate pudding. 

He made a face. 

"Why are you making a face"

"I'm not." Billy sighed, long and slow, when Steve ended up with his face pressed against his neck. He wriggled again, hips pressing into Billy's side just to see if he could get him to do it once more. "Quit it. God, hate it when you get all antsy."

"I'm not antsy." Steve pouted.

"Oh yeah? You've had three Dr. Peppers, one lemon head, a handful of M&M's--"

"Alright."

"Such a brat."

Steve relaxed into the familiar warmth of of Billy's chest. A lot of things had changed since summer--Billy was lifting weights everyday in preparation for basketball. He spent Friday nights eating vegetables and rice instead of pizza, even when he slept over at Steve's, and got to bed before midnight so he could wake up early to train. 

Steve missed their lazy Saturday mornings. Missed Billy's fingers in his hair. Ached for the sleepy way they would cuddle and watch cartoons until Steve's mom had gotten around to making pancakes. Steve yearned for the solid warmth of Billy's chest against his back as they dozed in the treehouse for hours on end, but a lot of things had changed for the better, too. 

Like how the cut of Billy's jaw was the perfect shelf for Steve's fingers.

And how the strength of his arms when they locked around Steve's waist at night could fend off any nightmare. The warm, comforting drawl of his scent when he was coming out of deep thought was Steve's favorite thing in the world so he snuggled even closer, nose brushing Billy's scent gland until he pinched Steve's side.

He grinned at the soft, sweet noise Steve made in retaliation, scent blossoming into something like ocean waves.

"What are you thinking about, Sunflower?" Billy trailed his fingers gently over the skin on Steve's tummy, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. 

"You."

"Shouldn't be thinkin' about me." He tickled Steve's belly again, smiling softly at the ceiling of the treehouse. "Should spend more time strategizing."

"I don't know if I'll be any good at it."

"Any good at what?" Billy inquired, fingers slipping under the tattered hem of Steve's sweater to paw lightly at his ribcage. It was addictive.

He shivered, hips arching into the touch. "At having a girlfriend, I don't. Think I'd be any good."

Billy pinched him again. "Oh, so now she's your girlfriend, huh?"

"That's not what I--"

"Don't even know the girl's name yet and you're already in love with her." Billy smoothed his hand over the offended flesh on Steve's side, sounding almost impressed as his fingertips slipped just below the tight line of Steve's waistband and--

Steve pushed himself away. Sat up on his elbows to put some space between them because he _knew_ it.

They were getting too old to have their hands all over each other.

Everyone said so, Billy said so, and.

Steve was an Omega, after all.

He took the cards from their box again just for something to do. Just so he wouldn't have to stare into the hurt he knew was swirling in the deep blue of Billy's eyes. This was a new line that had appeared in the sand, they didn't always know how to handle it. Billy tucked his hair behind his ears and Steve ignored the dull ache in his fingers to move it back. To run his fingers through those curls, like he used to. 

But they were getting too old to have their hands all over each other.

"You could practice on me, if you want."

Steve stared at him. "What?"

Billy sat crisscross-applesauce on the floor of the treehouse, adjusting himself until their knees were touching in the chilly autumn air. When Steve finally looked up he felt like he was burning up. Sure fire intensity starred back at him as Billy's tongue swiped his bottom lip in a torturous arc. 

They were getting too old, but--

"All the girlfriend stuff, you could." Billy shrugged, eyes dropping to the deck of cards in Steve's hands. "You could practice. On me, I wouldn't. Mind, wouldn't. Tell anyone." He watched with forced interest as Steve moved the cards around.

As Steve put them away.

As those very same hands came to a rest on Billy's knee caps. Steve felt like he had swallowed a million cotton balls.

"You'd do that for me?"

"Of course I would." Billy rasped. He closed his eyes, scent sharp and clear like fresh mountain pine. Vibrant with earnestness. "Would do anything for you."

"You'll let me practice?"

"Uh-huh."

"Even, the, uh. The big stuff?" Steve whispered.

Billy opened his eyes, blue swallowed by black. "Like what?" He asked.

And suddenly the words wouldn't come. "Just. You know. The big stuff?"

"I think I understand." Billy's hands came to rest on top of Steve's where they held onto him.

"You do?"

Billy nodded. "You could kiss me," He whispered. "If you wanted to."

Steve stared at the boy in front of him. At the sunlight streaming through the slanted windows, the dust filtering around Billy's pretty face. The way it glittered like a thousand tiny stars all pointing toward the same conclusion. The words fizzled in his throat.

Burned a hole in his ribcage.

Grew and grew until he was consumed with the weight of it all. Steve swallowed against the lump in his throat. "I never kissed anyone before, Bee. Not--"

"Your first time should be with someone who loves you."

"Bills, you haven't kissed anyone either--"

"I love you." Billy said simply. The smooth, warm curve of his palms travelled from Steve's wrists to his forearms. Billy pulled himself forward until he was pressed into Steve's space, blue-black eyes focused on the swell of Steve's lips like they were the last thing in the universe worth seeing. "You love me too, right?"

Steve didn't know what to say.

They weren't supposed to touch each other. 

Not like this.

And yet; "More than anything."

"More than the girl with the books?" Billy whispered. Steve could feel his breath, taste his words like they were dipped in chocolate, and.

"More than her." Steve vowed. "More than anything, Billy, I." He tangled his fingers in Billy's hair. Tugged gently, moving and situating his golden boy until Billy's mouth fell open in the space between them. Until Steve had a clear shot to the fleshy-pink landing of his tongue. "You really want to practice with me?"

"Sure." Billy said. His cheeks blossomed with color even as he smirked. "Can't have you embarrassing me with the princess, after all."

"You like her?" Steve snapped. And he wasn't sure what it was that bothered him about it.

That the girl would like Billy--

or that Billy could like her.

"She's probably got hot friends, right?" Billy grinned, pink lips twinkling in the sunlight.

And.

Okay. Yeah. Steve nodded, tightening his grip on Billy's neck. He zeroed in on those lips, that clever mouth that had taken him apart for years. That had put him back together when Steve couldn't stop falling to pieces, and.

Suddenly Steve couldn't wait anymore. 

Billy's mouth was softer than it looked. Warm, like a peach that had been left in the sun, and Steve wasn't sure what to do with it at first. 

How to handle the wet slide of skin on skin without coming apart at the seams.

The way Billy's lips parted almost immediately, their teeth clicking together as Steve struggled to lick into Billy's mouth was instantly addictive.

Heady, as Steve scrambled for more. Billy made a soft, sweet noise in the back of his throat when Steve suckled delicately on his tongue, when Steve's hands dropped to pull him closer and--

It was over far too soon.

Billy pulled away with a wet pop. "Okay, Stevie, that's--"

"I'm sorry. I didn't--"

"'S okay, really. It was." Billy wouldn't look at him. Why wouldn't Billy look at him? "Fine, it was. Okay, really."

Steve felt like crying.

And screaming.

And running away. He would never stop running. "I never kissed anyone before. I could--I'll get better, bee, I will--"

Billy made a face. Steve didn't know why he was making promises. Couldn't piece together why he was so desperate to prove himself as desirable to his best friend, but.

Billy smiled tightly.

And Steve tried not to be disappointed when Billy wiped a hand across his mouth. When he couldn't meet Steve's eye. When he made an excuse to go home.

Steve was going to embarrass himself.

No one would ever want to kiss him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short one because there's only long boi's from here on out. Ah the awkward first kiss.  
> Why did Billy react that way?  
> Will Steve work up the courage to introduce himself?


	5. Sable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (or) Soft, Softer, Softest with a side of angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pair this one with:  
> April, Come She Will, by Simon and Garfunkel

**Part One: Restless**

It followed him around after that, like a secret tucked in the back pocket of his Levi's.

Steve had known the warmth of Billy's skin against his own. Had studied, intimately, the way Billy's eyes teared up against his better judgement when something excited or upset him. Steve knew like the back of his hand the timbre of Billy's voice when it was late enough that the night bird had stopped singing its song, had memorized the twinkle in his eye when he spoke about Max or his mother, and.

Steve knew Billy better than anyone else but he hadn't _known._

Not really.

Wasn’t accustomed to the way his palms would break out into a sweat when Billy entered a room. How Steve would suddenly start overanalyzing the way he looked or sounded when they hung out together. Hadn't realized the silver spring pearling just beneath his living skin, the banks swamped and flooded with a single phrase. As he lie awake in bed each night he couldn't stop his imagination from running wild. 

His hands quickly followed suit, exploring the curves and valleys of his skin until Billy's name fell from his lips like a prayer.

A confession.

Steve thought it would have been easier to die.

\--

Tommy H. was as clueless as a block of cement. He sat with them every afternoon at lunch, spouted bonehead things about the girls in their grade like he was getting paid for it, or something, and thus hadn't noticed the shift in the air. 

Billy was sitting next to Tommy H. now instead of Steve. Picked off Hagan's plate, thigh no doubt pressed against the freckled flesh of their companion and Steve was absolutely livid with the churning sickness of _something_ at the way Billy laughed at Tommy's stupid jokes. Steve was boiling on the laminate bench; what a fucking phony Billy was. As if he didn't say that Hagan was _boring and evil_ behind the closed door of Steve's bedroom. 

Steve poured far too much ketchup on his fries and tried to ignore the way Billy was ruffling Tommy's hair. Pointedly looked away from those strong hands on Tommy's milk carton as Billy squirted its contents onto Hagan's dark gray polo and rubbed at it with sure, steady fingers.

Steve munched on his hamburger and tried not to notice the itch working its way down his spine. There was no getting around it; Billy was ignoring him.

And it had never happened before. Not once, not since those four days Billy missed in Kindergarten when Mrs. Prayer asked too many questions, and.

Steve felt like he couldn't breathe. 

He tried, lungs squeezing weakly around the absence those blue eyes had left in his life. Steve took a swig of milk and tried to work it out in his head.

He'd done nothing _wrong._

The practice kiss had been Billy's idea and, like always, Steve was helpless to do anything other than fall in line. Than pick up his staff as the sidekick and follow Billy's every whim. Even now he sat in trusted silence, watching the two boys across from him lean against each other in a fit of giggles.

Billy's hand snaked around the swell of Tommy's shoulders to squeeze at his neck.

Steve watched Billy pull him closer--

"Where ya goin' Harrington, don't fancy a little breast milk." Tommy said around a hunk of fry dipped in mayonnaise. It was disgusting. Billy thought it was disgusting, the way Tommy doused everything in a blanket of white goo, except not anymore, apparently.

Because he was munching the fries with a shit eating grin on his face.

Eating off Tommy's tray instead of Steve's, and.

"Gross." Steve deadpanned. He hadn't even realized he'd stood up, but the lunch tray groaned in the iron cage of his fingers. "You're both so fucking gross, I can't even--"

"That's not what you said in the tree house." Billy's blue eyes glittered meanly under the harsh fluorescent lights. 

It was the first time he had addressed Steve directly in days. 

Steve shifted his bookbag, jaw working around a thousand and one pleas for mercy. The _I miss you's_ and the _please stop being upset with me's_ and the heavy _my life has no meaning if you aren't by my side's_ simmered and fizzed on Steve's lips when Tommy whooped like they were front row at a basketball game.

Billy nudged him, never taking his eyes off Steve as he licked the mayonnaise from his fingers.

The realization hit Steve like a basketball to the back of the head. "You told him?" He whispered.

And.

Billy laughed. Fucking _snarled,_ like Steve was a pathetic little bitch for having figured it out about three days after it had been made obvious. He picked at the food on Tommy's plate and just. Didn't say anything else. Just grinned at the laminate tabletop and the freckled dumbass in the seat next to him and for the first time in his life Steve felt like an outsider.

Felt like a sailor without a ship.

Tommy whispered something in Billy's ear, and. Steve slammed his tray down on the table. "How could you tell him our secret--"

"Was a funny fuckin' story, what else was I supposed to do? Hold it in?" Billy smiled again but it was wrong. Covered in nails and broken glass. 

Steve felt it cut him up, right where his heart was shuddering in his chest. "Why are you acting like this, bumble? Stop it."

But Steve's golden boy just snarled again.

He was all teeth and tense muscles as he leaned into Steve's space. "You're fuckin' pathetic, you know that?"

Steve rocked back like Billy had slapped him. "Why are you being so mean to me?"

"Maybe you deserve it." 

Steve shook his head. It didn't make any sense. He felt tears flood his vision, trickle down his cheeks while Tommy H. pretended like he had never seen a boy cry before. Steve scrubbed a hand over his eyes and willed them to stop.

Boys weren't supposed to cry and Steve always cried too much, and.

Billy's lips curled into a sneer. "Jesus, an Omega in heat carries less of a whine than you, you know that princess?"

In an instant Steve felt himself float away, into the clear blue sky.

It was a trick he had learned after his father noticed the blood in the carpet.

He saw the exact moment Billy worked out the secret Steve had been lugging around like a ball and chain. Billy ordered Tommy away; the kid argued for half a second before disappearing into the clouds but it didn't matter, anymore.

Steve was crying in the lunch room. His chin was wobbling as Billy changed from a monster back into a man right in front of his eyes, and.

The world might as well end on a Tuesday.

"Stevie," Billy rose from the table slowly as if any sudden movement would frighten Steve into running away. His chin was wobbling, too. "Sunny, I didn't. I didn't mean it, okay honey, I didn't--"

"I don't want to be friends with you, anymore." Steve declared.

Billy opened his mouth to say something, but. Steve had learned it was a toss up these days.

So, he grabbed his tray from the table and left the room in swirling, pulsating normality.

\--

The library was empty during lunch.

Hell the place was empty most of the year. Steve had only ever seen it full when the English classes set aside tables for research, and as the Librarian stocked shelves quietly near the entrance Steve had never felt more grateful for an empty room. He made his way to the overstuffed chairs in the back by the _Young Adult Fiction_ section collapsed into a ball on the couch closest to the window.

There was no one around to hear him cry. No one to point and snicker or ask useless questions, and it was the last place in the universe Billy would think to search for him, so.

Steve allowed the soft down cushion to wrap around him like a blanket as he pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head. He yanked on the strings until all the world gave way to blissful darkness. 

Until there was only the shuddering, weak timbre of his breathing to break the dam of emotion inside his chest.

The first sob was like taking a baseball to the stomach. He wept for himself. For the way change had come like a night of frost. He wept for his Nonna, who was gone. For Billy. Always for Billy, who was so soft and warm and sweet when he wanted to be. Who held Steve when he cried, who kissed like that's what they were put on the Earth to do--

"Hey, are you alright?" A voice like sleigh bells cut through the room, slicing the air from Steve's lungs as if it already held some sort of power over him.

Steve whimpered. "I'm crying in the library, what do you think?"

"Beats crying in the bathroom." He was so afraid to look, afraid of what he'd see as the voice spoke again, closer this time. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Steve snorted. It was an ugly, thick wet sound that made the voice laugh. He tried not to let it go to his head. "I don't even know who you are, and besides. You wouldn't understand if I told you."

Steve felt the couch dip somewhere near his feet.

He wanted to look, but--

"Why, 'cause I'm a girl?" The voice sounded like sleigh bells, for Christ-sake, Steve couldn't get over that. Like hot chocolate and Christmas time. He shrugged, the rough material of the couch making his hoodie bunch up on one side.

Steve didn't want to look, but. "Are you a girl?" He was curious.

"I just said I am."

Steve snorted again. "Then I'm definitely not going to tell you." He had a reputation to uphold, after all. 

The voice fell silent at that, the gentle turn of the page Steve's only clue that the owner of the voice hadn't up and left altogether. He shifted around on the couch until his shoulders propped themselves against the arm of the thing. 

He didn't want to look, and yet; "Are you reading?"

"That's what people usually do in libraries."

"That's a lie." Steve shook his head. "People don't use libraries for anything, that's a myth."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure--"

"Apparently people use libraries to cry in." The voice chuckled. Steve wanted that sound ringing in his ears every morning over breakfast. "I heard they've replaced bathrooms as the hottest ticket in town."

Steve wanted to look.

"What's your name?" She asked.

Steve chuckled, tightening the chords on his hoodie again. "Wouldn't you like to know."

The weight on the couch shifted like maybe the owner of the voice was shrugging. "That's why I asked, dork."

"Oh, so now I'm a dork?"

"You're the one crying in the library--"

"Hey, I'm on trend!" Steve reasoned. They laughed together for a moment, and then; "Steve. Harrington, you could call me that if you want, all my friends do."

"Are all your friends airhead jokes" The voice snorted.

It was so cute.

Steve thought they could be beautiful or gorgeous, or--

"I'm not calling you by your last name." The girl said definitively. Steve heard the sound of her book opening again. "This isn't basketball practice and I'm not your coach--"

He grinned. He wished she could see it. "Alright, then. Call me Steve."

The voice fell silent again. Steve poked it with his foot, something soft and warm squealing as the weight shifted away.

"What's your name?" He demanded. Because he had to know, if only to call up her parents to commend them on creating someone with a voice like that.

Sleigh bells giggled. 

It was so fucking cute. "Nancy. Nancy Wheeler." She sighed, the warmth of her body relaxing against Steve's foot. He flinched at the weight of her hand on his ankle, squealed in return when she pinched him. "Can I see your face, now?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because," Steve concluded intelligently. "'S not a very good face."

The girl snorted. Steve was 85% sure she had to be the prettiest girl on the planet to make an oink sound adorable.

Suddenly the weight was gone.

Steve sat up, peering through the fabric of his hoodie in an attempt to see where she had scampered off to. He squealed when two tiny hands grabbed his hood from behind, yanking it off before Steve had a chance to clench up again. 

"Hey, what the--" Steve reached behind the couch, fingers closing around delicate birdlike shoulders. He pulled Nancy over the arm of the couch until he could see her face, and.

Mussy brown and green. 

"Hi," She whispered, clearly out of breath but so, so pretty.

"Hey." Steve grinned. And the rest is history.

**Part Two: Blue Denim**

Nancy Wheeler was the coolest girl to ever live and Steve was grateful that she had been born in a place like Hawkins, Indiana. 

It didn't seem possible. 

She knew things. Like, interesting _wonderful_ things that Steve had never considered before. They were inseparable; hanging out every day after school and on the weekends. Nancy was into animals and science, any sort of niche topic that would enable her to flex her brain muscles, or whatever. 

She was cute.

So fucking cute, Steve was powerless to do anything other than sit back and learn. They spent their evenings in front the discovery channel, tangled down to their sock feet while Nancy ate orange pops. She would give little kitten licks to the thing, pointing at the screen when she had something to share. 

_You know Lobsters bleed in shades of blue, right?_ Nance would say. Like it was something Steve was just supposed to know already.

_Bullshit._

_No, it's true._ She would defend while Steve snuck a lick or two from her ice cream until they were a pile of contented giggles.

It would continue like that for hours--days--as their relationship grew. 

Nancy knew lots of things. Some useless like _two and five are the only prime numbers that end in two and five,_ and some useful. When Steve was getting in shape for the swim team Nancy had advice about diet and exercise, beginning every conversation with facts about celery.

He thought it was kind of ridiculous at first, but it worked and Steve found himself enchanted at every twist and turn. 

Found himself thinking less and less about blue eyes and golden curls. 

\--

Nancy plopped down in front of him one afternoon at lunch, hair tied into a messy bun. "Are you going to ask me on a date, or what?"

Steve had just impressed Barbara by shoving an entire cornflake up his nose.

He looked like a walrus, and. "Huh?"

"Are we going to go steady soon or do you think you're more romantically compatible with someone else?"

Barbara slung her backpack over her shoulders. "That's my cue." She sent Steve an apologetic glance before disappearing from sight--

And then Steve and Nancy were alone.

She flipped open the tiny spiral notebook she always carried with her, scanning through to a page labeled _Steve Harrington._ Her pretty pink lips traced the curves of her list until she found what she was looking for. "You and I are perfect for each other. From humor to hobbies and beliefs about the world to religious practices. You're the perfect guy for me and I--"

Steve took the cornflake out of his nose. First thing's first and all that.

"Nance--"

"I've crunched the numbers, Steve."

"What, on your boyfriend calculator?" 

_"Steve."_

Her eyes were big and green, like two neon disco balls asking Steve to finally grow a pair. He let himself scan the room just once for Billy. For the comforting, familiar gaze that would inevitably urge him toward landing his first girlfriend, but.

They hadn't spoken in weeks and Billy was elbow deep in Tommy's ass, cackling hysterically at whatever bonehead thing he was saying, so.

Steve nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?" Nancy asked in disbelief. "Just okay, are you--"

He scrambled for his backpack. 

Steve may not have Billy anymore but he did have half a brain. His mother told him girls liked to feel special--liked to have something _from the heart_ that showed how a suitor really felt about them, so.

Steve zipped his bag open and took his time pulling out the box set. 

Nancy's eyes scanned the cover with what could only be labeled as absolute shock. Steve set the gift gingerly on the table between them, tucking his hair behind his ears to avoid throwing up right on the spot.

She wasn't saying anything, just. Staring. 

"It took me two weeks to save up enough to buy the first half." Steve looked around again for Billy. Found him watching with a leveled and even stare.

Nancy was beaming again. _"_ _The Babysitters Club_ is my favorite, Steve."

"I know. It's only the first half but--"

Kissing Nancy Wheeler felt like snowflakes settling on his skin. 

Warm and cold and gentle as butterfly wings all wrapped in a blanket of green the color of fresh dew. Steve kissed back carefully, eyes flying open when Nancy threw her arms around his shoulders, fusing them together right there in the cafeteria.

Someone was whooping.

Someone else was cheering.

Steve felt Nancy's tongue trace his bottom lip and enough was enough. He gently detangled himself from her, smiling in what he hoped was an encouraging expression. She watched him patiently, lips shiny and wet as he worked up the courage to say what had been heavy on his spirit for weeks.

"Will you be my girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler?"

She grinned. Beamed so brightly that it gave the sun a run for his money. "Of course, you idiot."

And then they were kissing again. Steve could feel Billy's eyes on him, could feel the heat of his stare, and.

Kissing Nancy Wheeler was nothing like kissing Billy Hargrove.

Steve wasn't sure he preferred it.

\--

Saturday morning had always meant pancakes and cartoons with his favorite person in the world. 

But since Steve's favorite person had morphed into an asshole under the light of the full moon, Steve didn't feel much like celebrating the start of the weekend even after his triumphant victory with Nancy at school on Thursday.

Steve didn't know what he'd expected.

That Billy would forgive him, that they could forgive each other and start planning for Steve's first real date on Saturday night. That Billy would help him pick out new clothes, rehearse what would be said and done when his mom's beamer pulled up the Wheeler residence at seven but that isn't what happened.

All progress had been lost with the lunchtime declaration.

Where Billy had started making eye contact with Steve and even waving if he was in a good mood, after the kiss Billy had gone back to pretending Steve didn't exist.

It sucked.

So Steve laid in bed on his third Saturday morning without Billy, freezing and grumpy as shit, with the curtains pulled over the windows and a towel thrown over his head. Billy liked to let the light in and sue Steve for hoping that the weekend would begin and end as it always had; Billy showing up bright and early along with the sunrise.

It was just wishful thinking.

Billy had taken what Steve said seriously; they were no longer friends.

It _royally_ sucked.

Steve buried his head under the pillow, heart weighing no less than a ton of bricks, when here was a soft knock at his door.

"I'm not hungry mama," He whimpered miserably. "You could make something for Billy, though. In case he comes by." 

Steve shuffled further under the covers as the door opened.

And closed.

And a soft chuckle alerted Steve to the presence of his favorite person on the planet. Billy was still in his pj's when Steve peeled the covers back to get a look at him, hair windswept from having ridden his bike across town. His nose and cheeks were red from the sting of the early morning air and he had tossed an old bomber jacket over the flannel nighties to stay warm in the chill.

Billy was beautiful.

So beautiful that Steve was fighting nausea. He folded his arms across his chest. "I didn't think you'd come."

Billy shrugged. "Wasn't going to."

"Then why did you?" Steve sniffed, wilting like a summer rose under the heat of Billy's stare. His eyes traveled from Steve's bedhead to his sleep wrinkled cheeks, to the bare skin of his chest. 

"Missed you, I guess."

And okay. Maybe that was good enough. Steve laid down, parting the blankets to make room for Billy in the shelter of their warmth. He watched as Billy tossed his jacket to the floor, and then his tshirt, and his flannel bottoms until he crawled in next to Steve, boxers doing little to hide the thick muscle of his thighs.

Billy's skin was freezing, chilled to the touch as if he had slept out under the stars. When Steve buried his nose in Billy's hair, the scent of pine lapped over him in waves. 

He took big, greedy gulps.

Let himself be situated to Billy's liking.

Let his head be nestled against Billy's throat, hands cradled against the hard line of muscle on his abdomen.

It felt like coming home.

Billy threaded their fingers together and sighed. "I'm really sorry, for what I said, sunflower."

"I know."

"So, you forgive me?" 

"Depends." Steve hid his face. Always did, when things were tough. He brushed his lips over Billy's Adams apple. "Do you still want to be my friend even though I'm an Omega alignment?"

Billy's skin broke out in gooseflesh where Steve was pressed against him.

"I don't give a shit about that stuff, Stevie." Billy chuckled. "Can't be worse than hanging around an asshole Alpha like me."

"That's a lie."

"Is not." The grip on Steve's hand tightened possessively, like Billy believed he could convince Steve through touch alone. "You're my favorite person on the planet. My best-best friend, and I've been in hell these last few weeks without you. Stevie, I don't want to do that anymore, I."

He kissed Steve's forehead. 

Soft and slow and open mouthed, lapping at the scent glands along Steve's hairline until their smell had mingled into something new.

"I can't do that ever again." Billy concluded fiercely. "Won't ever treat you like that anymore, alright? Never."

Steve shifted around until they lay facing each other on the tiny twin bed. 

Billy stared at him seriously, blue eyes cloaked in regret and hope and shame as Steve ran his fingers along the gentle slope of Billy's cheekbone. 

"I can keep you?" He asked.

And suddenly the air felt heavy. Like the world had been boiled alive and Billy pulled him close-close- _closer._ He tucked Steve's head under his chin and sighed.

"As if I could ever belong to anyone else."

And Steve let himself cry, almost neglecting to notice the yellowing bruises on Billy's skin.


End file.
